


Fire is the Devil's Only Friend

by machinekeys



Series: we don't own our heavens now; we only own our hell [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 15:58:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20194882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machinekeys/pseuds/machinekeys
Summary: BAD END RWBYsona AU - Ever since the world ended, Weiss has been craving more and more attention. Fortunately, she knows exactly where to find it.





	Fire is the Devil's Only Friend

Weiss perched on the shoulder of a statue as regally as a queen holding court from her throne. Her eyes were closed in rapturous enjoyment as the last notes of her aria echoed through the courtyard. The still air quickly swallowed up the sound, as oppressive as the ever-present gray sky above, but for a moment her voice rent the silence to pieces, sharp and exquisite.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked the statue. “Aren’t I?”

The statue made no reply. It was one of the countless ones that littered Beacon’s campus, depicting a huntress with her foot on the neck of a snarling Ursa, her spear poised to deliver the final blow.

“Oh, come on. What good are these-” she traced the curve of one of the statue’s ears “-or these-” she moved to its delicately carved eyes “-if you won’t use them?”

Its face was worn down in places by the wind and rain, the triumphant grin softened into something almost mournful.

“Hmph, perhaps I should envy you,” Weiss said, leaning in as if to share a secret, “after all, you’ll never know just how hideous you are. But don’t fret now, we all are. Every last one of us is so nauseatingly imperfect, myself included.”

Her expression darkened, her nails scraping across its stone iris. “But you won’t look. You won’t see how much better I am than the rest of the vermin.”

The statue continued to stare unblinkingly forward.

Silence stitched itself back together, its suffocating weight crashing down on Weiss. She dug her nails into the statue as if she could wrench some noise of pain from its stone throat, its whimpers comforting her with the proof that she wasn’t truly alone, but the statue’s expression never flickered. One of Weiss nails chipped and she jerked her hand back, cursing under her breath.

Wincing, Weiss leaped down from her perch and landed in a crouch beside the Ursa’s head. She’d grown tired of this game, and Weiss Schnee wouldn’t stoop to begging attention from inanimate objects. She smirked at the Ursa, frozen in stone in the moment between life and death, not when she had a beast of her own to toy with. Still, she wished the walk back to the main building felt less like a retreat.

A few months ago Beacon had teemed with life, every room ringing with the sound of students talking and laughing and fighting. Now, it was an abandoned husk, its proud towers pointing towards the sky like the ribs of corpse picked clean by scavengers. Unlike the dead silence outside, Beacon’s quiet was sterile and antiseptic, only holding its breath as it waited for the students that would never return. On her better days, Weiss sang and danced through the deserted halls, filling them far more beautifully than the others ever had.

Weiss paused by the entrance to the library, resting a hand on the splintered doors. Through the gaps in the wood she could make out the furniture that had been piled behind it, massive bookshelves and heavy, oak tables stacked on top of each other to form a barricade. Somewhere beyond it, cowering in the gloom, was Blake. No matter how Weiss called out to her, she never answered, and there was only so much paranoia and typical Faunus stubbornness Weiss was willing to indulge. Really, Blake had no one to blame but herself for Weiss’ repeated attempts to batter the door down.

But Weiss had another beast in mind today. Her team’s old room was just two stories up on a short corridor off the main hall, and that door was never locked.

Though the rest of the school had been preserved like a bug in amber, very little of the room was left intact. All but one of the beds had been thrown against the walls, their frames broken beyond repair, mattresses torn and blackened. Loose pages from Blake’s books, torn scraps of clothing, and glass shards littered the floor. In place of the shredded curtain, a mattress had been propped against the window, blocking what little light came from outside.

Curled on her side on the sole untouched bed lay Yang, a bright red pair of headphones on her head, the music leaking from them loud enough that Weiss could hear it from across the room. She didn’t stir when Weiss closed the door behind her and slipped off her jacket, carefully folding it so it wouldn’t wrinkle. Yang’s bed was surrounded by bottles of cheap alcohol, some full, most with half or more gone. Weiss wrinkled her nose at their stench and kicked off her boots.

Hopefully, Yang hadn’t drunk herself into enough of a stupor that they couldn’t have a little fun. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Yang rolled over to face her as Weiss climbed on the bed, yanking the covers off of her. “Hey, princess,” she said, dully. She was dressed in the same grimy pajamas she’d worm last time, and her hair was matted and tangled. “You’re back soon.”

“Count yourself lucky for it.” Weiss straddled Yang and pinned her shoulders to the bed. It was largely for effect, Yang was strong enough to toss Weiss clear across the room, but it felt right to have Yang beneath her.

Yang’s hands rested on her thighs, but made no motion to go higher, distractedly stroking her thumbs along Weiss’ skin. Useless. Weiss bent low and nipped at her mouth, little biting kisses that Yang encouraged without spending the effort to reciprocate. Her head nodded in time to the discordant beat coming from her headphones.

Weiss bit down on her collarbone, tasting the salt of her skin and then the copper-iron of her blood as she refused to let up the pressure of her teeth, but even that failed to provoke a reaction. Seething, Weiss sat back on her heels and glared down at her. How dare she ignore Weiss. How dare she refuse Weiss anything. She was a crude, idiotic, muscle-brained cretin, and it was too high an honor for her to lick Weiss’ boots, let alone share her bed.

“Fuck you,” Weiss hissed, digging her nails into Yang’s arms, “fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

Yang cracked an eye open, fingers drumming along with the music. “Something wrong?”

“I’m sorry, is this not exciting enough for you?” Weiss asked, sickly sweet.

“Nah, it’s fine. We’re having a party, right? It’s always a party when I’m around.” She grinned, but there was no joy in it, no emotion whatsoever, just a mechanical twitch of her facial muscles. “You want a drink? C'mon, it’ll loosen you up.”

Weiss yanked her nails free of Yang’s flesh, darting out her tongue to taste their red-stained tips. “No, I don’t want a single sip of your swill. Look at you. Look how pathetic you are. You wouldn’t even care if ripped you apart seam by seam, would you? Ha! You disgust me.”

Yang only grunted in acknowledgment and took a gulp of something clear and bitter-smelling from one of the bottles that littered the floor.

“Pathetic,” Weiss spat. “So utterly pathetic. You’re not even interesting enough to hate. You’re nothing. You’re a bug. An insect! Getting crushed under my heel would be too good for you.”

“Hmm.” The music leaking from Yang’s headphones was getting louder, building to a crescendo.

“Doesn’t that make you angry? Don’t you hate me?” Weiss asked, her voice growing higher, plaintive and desperate. “Come on. Hate me. Love me. Hate me and love me-”

“Mmm.”

“-and hate me, just look at me. Look at me! Please, look at-” Yang’s eyes drifted shut as the music swelled “-bitch!” She tore the headphones off of Yang’s head and tossed them to the ground.

Yang caught her wrist as she reached out to claw and rip and tear Yang’s face, squeezing until her bones ground together, drawing an pained gasp from her throat.

“Thought we were having fun,” Yang said, low and dangerous. She sat up, Weiss still in her lap, leaning as far away as her trapped wrist would allow. “Now why’d you have to go and do a thing like that?”Before Weiss could scramble free, Yang grabbed her other wrist, the grip equally cruel.

“Unhand me this instant.” Weiss tried to pull back but Yang’s hold was too strong, like chains and iron bars, filling Weiss with the nauseating feeling of being trapped.

“So bossy. All of you are. Always asking for something.” Yang’s mouth twisted as if she could only vaguely remember how a smile was supposed to look. “Help me, Yang. Save me, Yang. Look at me, Yang. Love me, Yang. Do any of you even care what I want? Does anyone ever try to make my dreams come true? Nah. Not one of you selfish fucking monsters.”

“Let me go, you brute.”

“I don’t think so. For once, I’m gonna do what I want to do.” Her grip tightened and tears beaded at the corners of Weiss’ eyes. “Didn’t you want me looking at you, princess? Aren’t we having a party?”

She released Weiss wrists and grabbed her by the throat, forcing her to gasp and wheeze for every breath. With her other hand, she snatched a bottle off the floor and raised it in a mock toast.“Heh, it’s just a joke. Lighten up, Schnee. Here, have that drink.”

The lip of the bottle knocked painfully against her teeth and cheap whiskey filled her mouth, bitter and burning. She couldn’t swallow with Yang choking her, the vile liquid overflowing and running down her chin to stain her dress. Black spots crowded her vision, the hand at her throat tightening despite her increasingly feeble struggles.

Something jagged and angry deep inside Weiss raged at the indignity of it, drowning in cheap alcohol at the hands of Yang Xiao Long. She deserved so much more, so much better. Another part of her couldn’t help cooing at the way Yang’s golden eyes were never left her face. At least Yang was looking now. She could bear all this as long as Yang never stopped looking at her.

Bestial rage disfigured Yang’s face, the too wide, too cruel grin was the first expression that seemed natural on her, and not another mask she wore only as long as her anger was content to stay buried. The muscles in Yang’s arms twitched, her fingers clenching around Weiss’ throat like she was barely suppressing the urge to rend her to bloody pieces. Growling, she yanked the bottle from Weiss mouth and hurled it against the fall wall, glass shards and alcohol raining down on the floor.

Weiss heard the crash as if from a great distance. The world had gone soft around the edges, gentle and terrifyingly soothing. She was cold everywhere but her throat, Yang’s hand a white hot brand on her skin. Lack of oxygen had smothered Weiss’ own fury to ashes and embers. Yang would pay for this, that much was certain, but it was a distant, fleeting concern.

She was tired. Exhausted. Yang’s eyes were gold like the sun that hardly ever broke through the gray clouds, and Weiss let herself sink into that warmth-

-only to be violently jerked back to awareness as Yang got to her feet, dropping Weiss at the foot of her bed. Weiss wheezed, choking on air, while Yang stalked back and forth across the room, an animal in a cage. She kept glancing at Weiss before ripping her gaze away, guiltily, as if she were afraid what she might do if she put her hands on Weiss again.

With a roar, Yang threw herself on the wreckage of Ruby’s bed, slamming her fists into it over and over. Flames licked up her arms, smoke wreathing her body, as the wooden frame splintered under her onslaught.

Weiss didn’t move from where she’d been tossed, unwilling to risk drawing Yang’s attention when she was in this state. Hazily, she wondered if it meant anything that Yang still spent the worst of her wrath on inanimate objects, protecting her as best she could.

Some days, Weiss had similar urges, distantly recalling obligations to her family, her friends, that went beyond gracing them with her presence and demanding their adoration, but they were growing ever more rare. Though she couldn’t bring herself to mourn their passing when the hunger for attention so all consuming, there was something sweetly nostalgic about the pain of duty and expectation.

Yang must have felt the same. This wasn’t the first time she had struck Weiss, and her fits of withdrawn melancholy only grew deeper, her rage burned hotter. She disgusted Weiss a little more with each visit, but Weiss needed her audience, and with Ruby missing and Blake barricaded in the library, she would settle for Yang.

The bed frame was little more than a pile of smoldering, jagged wood by the time Yang calmed herself. Panting, she slumped down beside Weiss, snatching a bottle off the floor and guzzling half of it in one go. Her knuckles were raw and bloody, her hands leaving crimson smears on the glass. Their auras were flickering, fading, and were barely able to protect them from a few cuts and scrapes, let alone heal this sort of damage.

“Fuck you,” Weiss said, her voice little more than a tortured rasp.

“Yeah, yeah.” She took another swallow from the bottle. It might as well have been water for all her reaction. “I know you want me to.”

“Who would want someone like you?” Each word slipped off Weiss’ tongue sharp and cruel, broken glass to shove under Yang’s skin. This must be the rage Yang felt, the urge to destroy without a thought for style or artistry. How crude. How base. “You’re only a stepping stone for other people’s dreams, and do you honestly think anyone cares about the floor they walk on?”

A savage backhand sent Weiss reeling to the floor, blood in her mouth and her pulse pounding her in temples. Yang stood over her, seething. “Shut your mouth. I can’t believe I still try not to hurt you.”

Weiss propped herself up on an elbow, grinning viciously. “Of course you can. For all your strength, you’re utterly spineless when it comes to living for yourself. Pretend otherwise if you like, but we both know you’re nothing more than a mangy dog, happy to roll over and beg for your master.”

Yang pulled back her arm to hit Weiss again, but let it fall back to her side. She chuckled softly, more bitter than angry.

“You’re right, princess. You don’t want me. Not like you want Ruby. That’s it, yeah? It’s always Ruby. Everything’s always about Ruby.” She crouched down and gathered Weiss up in her arms, dropping her back on the bed. “Well, Ruby can’t have you. You’re mine, and I don’t feel like sharing.”

Hers? Hers? How dare she. Yang was just like all the others, caging Weiss with their expectations, keeping her a pretty little ornament to be trotted out for press conferences and dinner parties. A doll they could dress up, play with, and discard the moment she cracked. Winter settled deep in Weiss, gray tendrils of cold snaking like barbed wire through her veins, coiling around her heart.

Pinning her wrists to the mattress, Yang leaned down to crush their lips together, oblivious to the way Weiss’ breath frosted in the air. Weiss didn’t struggle, opening her mouth to Yang’s vulgar affection. Yang shifted more of her weight onto her arms and climbed on the bed, working a knee between Weiss’ legs, spreading her wider.

Her grunts, the movement of her dry, chapped lips, the way her hair hung down in a lank gold curtain, all of it disgusted Weiss. And this beast presumed to own her. The arrogance was breathtaking.

She pulled back a little when Weiss refused to reciprocate, confused and annoyed. “What’s the problem now? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Barely a fraction,” Weiss whispered, leaning up to meet her in a kiss.

Weiss hadn’t been able to summon her glyphs for weeks, but something new had crawled into the hollow left by her ragged Aura, eager to stretch its claws and bare fangs that glistened white with frost. She gathered the chill into her chest and breathed it into Yang through their joined mouths. Immediately, Yang reared back, her hands clutching at her throat. Ice rimed her jaw and lips, and she wheezed for air with cold-seared lungs.

Yang’s eyes narrowed and Weiss only just managed to jerk her head to the side as Yang’s fist came down, punching a hole in the mattress. Judging by the groan and creak of splintered wood, she had gone all the way through to the frame beneath, the blow enough to take Weiss’ head clean off if it had connected. The mattress springs squealed in protest as Yang tugged her arm free, flexing her hand a few times to ease the sting.

She coughed, her lips still faintly blue, the frost on her jaw slowly melting to drip down on Weiss face. “I guess that makes us even.”

“We’ll never be even. Don’t you get it yet? You’re beneath me in every sense,” Weiss said, grabbing a handful of Yang’s hair and tugging. “Or you will be soon enough.”

Yang was a beast and a brute, but Weiss wanted all she had to offer. She was through denying herself even the most base desire. And with how easily Yang let Weiss pull her down to her chest, she must have felt the same, her rage soothed by the familiar touch. She threw herself into Weiss with the same intensity she did her music, eager to drown out the misery.

Yang nuzzled her face against Weiss’ skin. “I missed this,” she muttered, “I really did.” She grabbed a breast, squeezing with absentminded roughness, the ache of it mingling with the lingering pain in Weiss’ neck and jaw.

Worming a hand between Weiss’s back and the bed, Yang unzipped her dress and tugged it down to her waist. She mouthed Weiss’ breasts through the fabric of her bra, mouth hot and damp, stroking her hands down Weiss’ sides and cradling her hips. Weiss half-expected her rage to return, that any minute Yang’s hands and mouth would turn cruel, demanding, but her touches stayed soft and purposeful, and Weiss couldn’t help but answer the restraint with gentleness of her own.

Their eyes met and Yang grinned with genuine warmth, looking like her old self for a moment. If Weiss tried, she could pretend that any minute now Ruby would come bounding in through the door, Blake in tow. They would all lie on a bed together, Weiss helping Ruby with her homework and Blake trying to read while Yang sprawled on top of them all. Weiss pulled Yang tighter against her, trying to drown out the thought with the feel of her skin.

Yang pressed her fingers to Weiss’ lips. “C'mon, get them wet for me.”

Another order. Weiss’ eyes narrowed and she defiantly kept her mouth shut.

“No? You sure?” Yang sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

Yang sucked on her fingers, running her tongue up their sides with long, slow licks. The show was probably for her benefit, but Weiss only found herself growing impatient. She arched against Yang, grinding against her as best she could. Laughing, Yang pushed a hand down on her chest to keep her still, damp fingers splayed over her collarbone.

“Calm down, princess. I’ve got you.” She dipped her hand between Weiss’ legs and held it up for Weiss to see, wetness glistening on her fingertips. “Guess you didn’t need the help after all.”

Yang pushed two fingers deep into Weiss, her thumb coming up to rub her clit with firm, quick strokes. Weiss gasped and clutched at the sheets. This alone was worth Yang’s moodiness and anger. Weiss rarely took care of her own needs, having been too ashamed before and feeling it was beneath her after, and Yang’s practiced movements were so much better than Weiss’ embarrassed fumbling.

Yang trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses in a line up her chest, pausing when she reached Weiss’ neck. She stared at the purple-red bruises that had already started to form roughly in the shape of her hand, stark against Weiss’ pale skin, like blood on snow.

Guilt or something like it briefly flashed across her face and she lowered her mouth to the bruises, kissing them softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Three fingers now, stretching Weiss to the limits of what she found pleasant. She had a brief flash of fear that Yang wouldn’t stop there, would force her to take and take until it was only pain, but Yang’s thrusts slowed, gentling. Yang’s free hand found hers and held it tight as they rocked together.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I never did. I just wanted to protect the people close to me,” Yang mumbled into Weiss’ shoulder, sounding more lucid than she had in weeks. “And now you’re all gone. Even you. You’re with me and you’re still gone.”

Weiss pulled her into a kiss to keep her quiet, unable to listen any longer. The words didn’t hurt like they used to, not like the bruises on her neck, but that made it worse. It was like staring at the bloody ruin of one of her limbs, begging for the pain because it meant there was at least something left to save. Tears slipped out from Yang’s tightly shut eyes and landed on Weiss’ cheeks, falling down her skin in hot, wet trails. Despite it all, Yang’s hand never stopped moving, driving Weiss relentlessly closer to the edge.

“Shh, just keep looking at me,” Weiss said, voice strained. “Just- just look. I’m here.”

Yang let out a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and buried her face back in Weiss’ neck. Her fingers crooked deep inside Weiss, grinding hard with her palm. Weiss shivered and clutched at her, hand fisting in Yang’s shirt as she shook and whimpered and finally came.

Yang’s fingers stayed in her, drawing out every last drop of pleasure she could bear with firm, measured strokes. Every movement made Weiss shiver just a little more, drawing soft gasps out of her throat. She pushed at Yang’s shoulder until Yang rolled off of her and tried to slow her breathing, her heart pounding the same as it used to after a fight.

Yang curled up on her side, examining the wetness that coated her fingers. “Is this all we’ve got?”

“This is plenty.”

“Yeah?” she said, looking over her shoulder at Weiss.

Weiss brushed her fingers over Yang’s cheek, gentling her like a wounded animal. “Yes.”

Weiss pressed herself to Yang’s back and breathed in the scent of smoke that clung to her skin. The disgust she felt around Yang was still there, but it was quieter now, a low echo in the base of her skull that was drowned out by the warmth that blossomed wherever they touched. She threw an arm possessively across Yang’s stomach, running her nails lightly over the thin strip of skin visible between her shorts and the hem of her shirt.

Yang’s breathing hitched and she settled back against Weiss, grabbing Weiss’ hand and dragging it between her legs. Weiss could feel Yang’s heat through the thin material of her shorts. Yang covered Weiss’ hand with her own and ground against it while Weiss gently nipped at her shoulder, letting the tshirt blunt the sting of her teeth.

“Feel me,” she said, leaning over to lick the tear tracks on Yang’s cheek. “I told you, I’m here. I’m not gone.”

Yang muffled a moan in the sheets, her hips rocking into Weiss’ hand. “Ruby…” she whispered. “Blake. They’re gone, Weiss. We couldn’t save them.”

For once, Weiss was silent. Perhaps it would have been better if they had died in the final battle. Instead, they had been shown mercy and condemned to this living nightmare. She could still remember the look on Ruby’s face as she knelt before the shattered fragments of Crescent Rose, calling out for her mother. She could remember the first time Blake had lashed out, seeing her mouth twist in horror as she stared at the gouges her nails had left in Yang’s outstretched hand.

And Yang. She no longer burned, she flickered and smoldered, her rage only briefly returning any life to the ashes.

“It’s not your fault.” Weiss’ eyes burned with tears that she refused to let fall, angrily dashing them on the back of Yang’s shirt. “There was never any hope, no matter how we tried to fool ourselves.”

Weiss pressed her fingers into Yang, her shorts loose and thin enough for it to hint at penetration. Panting, Yang let go of Weiss’ hand so she could grab her hip and pull them even closer together. Her hair fell in tangles over them both, gold and warm.

“But I-” Weiss swallowed, her throat tight. She had to get the words out while she could, the chance might not come again. “I’m still so sorry. I should have been better. I tried to be better. I tried to be-”

Yang tensed against Weiss, every muscle locking tight as she brought a hand to her mouth and bit down on the knuckle. Weiss continued to gently stroke her through the soaked cloth.

“-perfect.” Her voice caught. “How could I have been such an idiot? Look at me, Yang. Look how ugly I am, how weak and flawed. There was never any hope.”

Weiss eased Yang’s hand out of her mouth and took it in her own, lacing their fingers together. Her hand was so much bigger than Weiss’, covering her like she covered Yang. She silently prayed that this pain would come just once more, if only so they could say their goodbyes.

Weiss stayed curled around Yang as long as she could bear, the bile rising in her again. When Weiss pulled her hand back, Yang propped herself up just enough so she could tug off her sweat-damp shirt and shorts, carelessly tossing them to the foot of the bed. She tried to rest a hand on Weiss’ thigh, but Weiss immediately shoved it away, and she settled for toying with a lock of Weiss’ hair, twining the strands around her fingers, braiding it with her own, white and gold bound together.

“Hey,” Yang said, slowly, “did you ever do this with Ruby? Before, I mean.”

Weiss stared at her hand for a moment and wiped it off with Yang’s balled up shirt. “Would it matter if I had?”

“Heh, just curious.” There was an edge to her voice. “So, did you?”

“I thought about it.” Weiss could feel Yang tense ever so slightly. Their demons only slept for so long. “But not like I thought about you,” she lied, smoothly.

“You should’ve said something. I wanted you too, but I backed off for her,” Yang said, settling back into the sheets, her jealousy appeased. The sharp lines of sorrow on her face were smoothing out, leaving dull, apathetic despair in their wake. “Can you sing for me sometime? Music helps. It lets me forget.”

“Soon,” Weiss promised. She grabbed the headphones off the floor and settled them over Yang’s ears. “First, we need to gather the rest of the audience.”

Yang’s brow creased even as the music began to bleed the tension from her body. “They’re gone.”

“Nonsense. Blake can’t run forever, and once we have her, it’s simply a matter of time until we find Ruby.”

The old wounds Yang’s words and fingers had opened deep inside of her were already scabbing over with ice. Weiss’ smile sharpened, turning predatory. No barricade would be able to withstand Yang’s strength for long, and if Blake refused to listen to reason, a pair broken legs would keep her from fleeing into another forgotten corner of the school.

“We’ll be a team again,” she said, quietly. “You’ll enjoy that, won’t you, you animal? As much as you enjoy anything.”

Yang made a noncommittal noise and dragged the blankets up to her chest. She spoke with the weary resignation of someone who knew that no matter their exhaustion, sleep was out of reach.“Sure. I guess.”

For all her suffering, Yang would never understand loneliness like Weiss did. The hollow, gnawing emptiness had eaten away at her ever long before her eyes turned gold, worse than thirst, worse than hunger, unbearable and inescapable despite the fleeting distraction Yang provided, but she only had to endure it a little longer.

Her team. Her friends. Weiss could see them now, on their knees before her, properly adoring. They would never stop looking at her, loving her, even if she had to freeze their eyes open. Her old life had been rent to pieces and left to rot in the still, dead air, but she would build herself a new one from flames and shadows and roses. And it would be-

“Perfect.”


End file.
